


Love's a bitch, ese

by elzed



Category: Southland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzed/pseuds/elzed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to episode 302. Pretty much PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's a bitch, ese

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was Ben/Sal, Polaroid  
>  **Disclaimer:** Merely borrowing the awesomely crafted characters to play with in my sandbox – no gain sought.
> 
> Betaed, once again, by the kickass **overnighter** , who worked heroically while beset by ‘flu and a bucketload of family commitments.

There’s a tentative look in her eyes for just a second as Ben walks across the parking lot towards her, but it disappears when he climbs into the Porsche. Instead, she snakes her arm around his neck and pulls him in for a dirty kiss.

He doesn’t care about all the others, or about Cooper’s knowing smirk behind him – he doesn’t need to look, he can tell – or about anything else. Sally’s smoking, and savvy, and he can’t think of a better way to unwind after a fucker of a day, a better way to scrub the memory of that dead baby from his brain.

“Hello, officer,” she purrs as he buckles up, “Are you ready for some more fun?”

She peels off, tires screeching. Officer Sherman might say something, but Ben is off the clock. He crosses his hands behind his head and stretches out as far as the cramped confines of the car allow him, which prompts Sally to place a hand on his thigh at the next red light.

It’s probably lucky she’s driving stick, or she’d have a hand in his pants already, and he’d be at the mercy of any passing cop looking for an excuse to haze the rookie. As it is, she needs both hands to drive off, and he gets a chance to calm down.

“Actually,” he sighs, “I was hoping for a massage. I had a rough day…”

“I think I could manage a massage,” she says, taking her hand off the gearstick to squeeze his thigh again, higher up this time.

“That would be… great. Really.”

“So, did Officer Cooper let the cat out of the bag?” she asks after a couple of minutes, and Ben shrugs.

“Nah. Chickie filled me in. And, you know, some of the guys…” he trails off.

He doesn’t know what to say – doesn’t want her to know that he’s heard a little more than he wanted to – but at the same time, it’s not like it really matters. This thing they have, it was never more than fucking; and frankly, he wasn’t under any illusions as to Sally’s predatory tendencies. The badge bunny thing, though – it’s going to take a bit to adjust to that; Ben’s used to women wanting him for his body, but the fact that they might want him for his uniform is a new one.

“Does it bother you?” she asks, lightly, and he wonders how often she’s had to negotiate that one, or whether he’s the first LAPD boot to have walked into this blindfolded.

Ben turns to look at her, catches her eye, holds it.

“No. No, it doesn’t.”

Leaning over, he kisses her shoulder, just under her capped sleeve. She smells of expensive perfume and faintly of suntan lotion, and her skin is warm under his lips, full of promise.

He really doesn’t give a shit about the others. Except maybe Dewey, but he can live with that.

*********************************

The promised massage is pretty spectacular, and God, he really needed it after that chase earlier. Every bone and muscle in his body is sore, and Sally’s skilled fingers, slick with scented oil, are prodding and pummeling the bruises and aches into submission. He’s face-down on her bed, buck naked, and to his surprise she didn’t even try anything before breaking out the massage oil and straddling him.

“God, you really are good,” he says, his voice muffled by the towel he’s lying on, and she laughs.

“It’s not the only thing I’m good at, Ben,” she whispers in his ear, and her hands, which have worked their way up and down his neck, shoulders and back, suddenly stray towards his ass.

There’s less pounding and more caressing now, less use of her strong grip, and more of her nails, trailing and teasing along his lower back and his ass. Ben’s cock – up until now a passive bystander in the proceedings, is taking notice.

All the more so when one hand slides down his hip and teases its way past the crease of his thigh.

He lets out a groan, and Sally climbs off him.

“Time to turn over, Ben,” she says, and he does, half-hard and eager for more stimulation.

Sally’s eyes are trained on his groin, and there’s no mistaking the victorious smile on her face.

“Oh, kid, you really are pretty,” she sighs, and Ben wonders whether she means him, or just his cock. Not that it matters, because about two seconds later, she wraps her lips around the head, and all coherent thoughts make a hasty departure from his brain.

Jesus fucking Christ, Sally gives great blowjobs. That alone was reason enough to come back tonight.

She has a mouth like a vacuum, and a tongue – shit, he doesn’t even know what her tongue is doing, except it’s working its way up and down and around every ridge and vein of his cock. It feels so good, he could weep. Her hand is wrapped around the base, tight, and Sally’s dipping her head lower at every pass, delivering without the shadow of a doubt the finest blowjob he’s ever had the pleasure of receiving.

Well, since last night at any rate…

Her right hand has slipped into her underwear, and the way her fingers move under the fabric is immensely arousing – Ben has to hold back not to thrust into her mouth – and then she starts fucking humming and he loses control. The liquid heat pooled in his gut threatens to erupt, until he comes, long and hard and blissful.

Sally swallows every drop, and the look of her face is purely the cat who got the cream.

Ben’s not all that surprised when she brings out the Polaroid camera – to tell the truth he’s been bracing himself for that moment ever since they walked in.

“I guess you’ve already heard about this,” Sally says as she flourishes it. “Be a doll and indulge me.”

What can he say? After the massage, and the blowjob, it would be churlish to turn her down. Part of him absolutely hates the idea that he’s going to end up as another photo in her collection; but he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Is it true you keep them in a shoebox?” he asks, and she smirks at him.

“I keep my favorites on the wall in my shoe closet,” she says, pointing the camera at him. “Don’t smile!”

Once the Polaroid’s dry, Sally scribbles his name at the bottom and holds it in one hand, a picture of indecision.

“You know, I think I want you on my wall,” she says, biting her lip, and then she shoots him a sly look. “But I’d like to have a little more… practice first?”

Not exactly subtle, but Ben’s willing to rise to the challenge, especially when she strips to a lacy camisole, stretched over her glorious, gravity-defying tits – okay, fake, but _good_ fake – and a tiny thong, climbs back over him, and rubs herself against him, flesh to flesh, the lace scraping against his nipples in a deliciously arousing way.

Jesus, Sally might be some crazy cougar with a fetish for uniforms, but she’s a fucking _hot_ crazy cougar, and _skilled_. She wraps her perfectly-manicured fingers around his surprisingly responsive cock and he winds a hand in her hair and pulls her down for a kiss. She still faintly tastes of him, but her mouth is hot and her tongue nothing short of lascivious.

They tussle on the bed, limbs entwined, and he’s growing exponentially harder by the minute, especially since he’s managed to get rid of her thong and is busy exploring her slick cunt with three fingers, his palm rubbing against her clit, until she makes a strangled sound and reaches for the condoms on her bedside table.

And then she stops, catches her breath and eyes him speculatively for a second.

“What?” he says, slightly unnerved. His cock is straining and throbbing, and he wants _in_. Like, now.

“Do you trust me?” she whispers, and all Ben can think is _No. Not really_ , but he nods.

Next thing he knows she’s grabbed hold of his wrist, and there’s a familiar click.

“Oh, you didn’t,” he groans, but he’s too hard to really care.

“Relax, officer. They’re not your handcuffs – I keep spares…” she says, neatly looping the chain around her headboard and reaching for his other arm. He doesn’t resist. Apparently, he’s more into bondage than he thought, because his dick is showing no signs of flagging, quite the opposite, and Sally notices.

There is something to be said for being at the mercy of a pervy sex fiend, he reflects – hands bound above his head – when she unrolls the condom onto him with her mouth, with a few licks for good measure, and proceeds to sheath him inside her, descending slowly on him, her mouth half-open. She looks totally debauched as she rises and falls, and he wishes he could hold on to her hips when he starts thrusting in counterpoint. Each thrust makes her moan, though, so he’s definitely doing something right.

She comes first, arching over him, every muscle in her body taut as she unleashes a volley of curses and gasps, hands clenched by her side, before collapsing onto him. After that, it takes only a few strokes for Ben to reach climax, his senses overwhelmed by all the stimulation, the raw feeling in his wrists strangely exciting as he tips over into orgasm.

“Can you free me now?” he whispers into her sweaty neck as they both lie there, catching their breaths, and she unlocks the restraints.

“Yeah, I think you’ve earned your freedom,” she says with a smile, massaging his sore wrists gently. “You’ve also made the wall, congratulations.”

And she leans over and plucks the photograph from the bedside table where she dropped it earlier, and crosses the room. When she opens the closet door, Ben can see a couple of dozen mug shots – Christ, if that’s the select few, he doesn’t want to know who’s in the shoebox – one of which looks suspiciously like a woman with long blonde hair.

Fuck.

Maybe Chickie didn’t take all that much convincing after all.

Sally adds his face to the wall, and gives the whole gallery a satisfied once over before walking back to the bed, the camisole skimming her bare ass. Between her brazen look, and the image of Chickie rolling with her on the bed that’s taken residence in his mind’s eye, Ben is feeling lightheaded. If he hadn’t just come for the second time that night,, he’s pretty sure he’d be getting hard.

Bring it on, Sally, he thinks, and he flashes her a come-hither grin.

Cooper doesn’t know what he’s missing…


End file.
